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Oxygen
---- The need, the want, the desire. The flames licked my body as it consumed the oxygen around me. I need, I want, I desire. It goes on to eat the house and the memories that were there. Now they were ashes on the ground and simple fuel for the fire to grow. Mum? Dad? Brother? The flames took me alive in its orange dance and black shadow. Slowly, I rode the wall down to the ground and wept. I wept and wept until my throat was hoarse and the flames finally had the meal they were promised. I woke to the sound of sirens and the screams of people nearby. I needed my family. I wanted to live. I desired vengeance. I only got to exist. ~~~~ A shaky breath is all I need as tears steadily start to flow. I am in my spot. The spot upon a hill just like all the movies hold; where main protagonist cries and their backstory is revised through the form of a flashback. I can't help giggle at my own thoughts. I wasn't a protagonist of any story, no matter how much I try to tell myself. Another shaky breath and this time a cough. Lungs don't forget the trouble you went through. Not like your mind. Scars don't follow my back or tear into my face to tell a story. I can tell a story through my lungs which hack and spew every day. I wallow in the pain for a second, the tears yet to stop their travel. When will it all end? This pain, this existing. I thought it was living, long ago. I believed I finally got the life through the terror of before. I lied to myself so much to get over the pain of the present to the sage it slowly became a past nightmare that will only follow me like my own shadow. No matter how much pain I go through, how much tears I shed or how many lives I take. Nothing helps my own pain I feel. The pain of loss. The cold seems to grow in my soul, consuming me. Once I was so warm and I was scared of that warmth. Now, I miss this warmth and wish to replace the cold that takes control of my every action and move. I don't know myself anymore. I am just a lair. No longer Dawn Blanc. Blanc. I miss them all. Japan is bland and no one understands me. My accent is too thick and I am shunned for being foreign. I stand up and stare at the sight. It will only take a step to stop this mere existing. Nothing more, nothing less. I shiver and turn around, I am nothing more than a coward. Even taking my life is too much for my existence. It's fragile, cold, my heart needs to be burnt. I stare at my hands and with a simple desire, my left-hand turns into a pistol. Can I trigger it on myself? No... This existence wouldn't let me. What kind of weakness of a quirk and a person is to be unable to kill yourself. Category:RP Category:Roleplays